


Untamed

by liberateme



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, K-S20, Slow Burn, aka the droid we all love, but REALLY she's misunderstood, caitlin writes a het fic??, couldn't resist, heartless jyn, moody cassian, please accept this as a humble offering, smut later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9092371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberateme/pseuds/liberateme
Summary: "Captain? She regarded the man with interest. He was too skinny, too scruffy to be a Captain. There was nothing impressive or formidable about him, and when she glanced down, she could have sworn he was wearing slippers."If you ask Jyn, I think she'll say her biggest mistake is choosing to steal from a Rebellion pilot.(a rogue one story, but a slight twist on the original. plus, more ocs and less finesse.)





	1. Chapter 1

He was easy prey to spot.

Scruffy, weathered looking, sporting smudges of spaceship grease and oil on his face; he wore a grim expression that was parts intimidating, parts childlike sulking. The cargo trousers and thinly layered beige shirt and jacket he was wearing was completely unsuitable for the snow storms Vallt would regularly experience. He seemed to realise his mistake, too, burying his hands in his jacket pocket as he wove through Tambolor’s market place.

Crouched near a conspicuous alleyway where two Valltii were swigging back Algarine wine and steadily getting drunk, Jyn waited for the stranger to pass by, terse. Should she miss this opportunity, or fail, Jingor wouldn’t forgive her. She’d be dealt with, and swiftly.

She shuddered at the image of his large, round face and gaping toothed smile. She was sure he kept a blaster strapped on him at all times because of her.

 _Your disloyalty_ , he had said to her, _is displeasing. One more mistake, Erso, and I will have no choice_. She shut her eyes in an effort to forget that wrinkled, blue claw-like hand reach towards her to stroke her, and opened them immediately. She had a man to follow.

Jyn didn’t take her eyes away from him now, vigilant – he’d stopped, to talk to one of the crooks that cheated foreigners out of their money, claiming his wares were _to be found nowhere else in the galaxy!_ To layer it on thick, he’d scrawled all over his stall in several languages: _Exclusive! Limited! One of a kind!_ It was all overkill, easy to spot from the perspective of a Vallt native.

The stranger seemed fooled, to her dismay; lingering by the stall, turning what the crook claimed was a relic of the Old Republic in his hands. Then, Jyn witnessed it: a kind of realisation dawning on his face – That the crook was a crook? she pondered. Or that, by some miracle, the item was genuine and a dusty old relic meant something to this stranger – but his disbelief hardened into anger, and the hope illuminated inside of him flickered, and died.

Jyn saw the force of his anger first hand, as the stranger signalled to two men, similarly dressed, their faces flushed from cold but still able to seize an arm each, and drag the crook away, as he squawked and protested.

“I am a friend of the Rebellion!” He declared, but his face bore the expression of a desperate man, white-faced and sweating; a man who’d happily switch from side to side if it meant keeping his life.

The stranger inclined his head over his shoulder during this very public display, and Jyn shrank into the shadow of the alleyway. Perhaps it was best she didn’t search the pockets of this man. She got an inkling he held some importance, and wouldn’t hesitate in making the same example of her with the wave of his hand.

But, as the stranger’s men disappeared with the crook and the stranger appeared to be alone, Jyn’s resolve returned to her, with her gutsy impulsiveness – the same that Jingor had spied in her when she was eight years old, and the opportunity that came with it.

Her eight year old self was shaking in the cold having just been reprimanded for unclasping someone’s watch while Jingor was witness to her nimble fingers. She wasn’t able to see the motives behind Jingor’s uneasy smile, nor the extending of his arms, bulging with blubber. She just wanted food, and shelter.

Now eighteen, Jingor no longer bothered to hide his clear exploitation of her skills, combined with her lack of empathy for others. There was little – if any – smiling, his pet nicknames for her had vanished, and he’d introduced her to a scheme he’d called “part of surviving in this world, Erso”: if she didn’t succeed that day with thieving, she wouldn’t be fed. She recalled the nights she’d had to sleep, her stomach growling all the while, with bitterness.

While Jingor was, undoubtedly, cramming his face with roasted meat mere rooms away.

  
Jyn had little choice. Crouching low, assuming a position she sincerely hoped the stranger wouldn’t spot – he was keener than most foreigners she’d stolen from, with a watchful eye and the posture of a soldier – she stealthily crept up to him. She had the advantage of his turned back, and intended to make good use of the opportunity it presented.

Once she’d reached the two metre mark, she straightened, and aimed for the man with purpose, her eyes scanning frantically all the while. Four pockets located outside, two snugly inside his jacket. She hoped not to have to venture near there, if she was fortunate.

She collided with him. “Oh, _God,_ I’m so sorry!” She kept her eyes on him: the blur of his head turning, the widening of his eyes, caught off guard, before they quickly narrowed to slits and he was staring at her resolutely. Cursing, she’d discovered he was sharp. Her hands moved quickly, in what she thinly veiled as concerned dusting down. “Are you okay?” She asked, sure to inject concern into her voice.

Her hands found a watch, unclasping it deftly, and slipping it into her pocket before he’d noticed its absence. “I’m … fine,” he said slowly, with a thick accent. He really wasn’t from these parts. “Who are you?”

“Just a _big_ klutz,” she simpered, uncovering credits in his pocket and stowing those away, too. “You have to excuse me.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Balki slink into the market place, and her heart _dropped_. What was he doing here, in all places? His watch and credit safely stashed, she chose then – wisely, she thought – to move.

She made her escape, and heard the man behind her make a bewildered noise. “What are you – ?” She was too late. Balki stepped smoothly in front of her, blocking her escape, the thin, white scar distorted in his curling, sickening smile. “Where are you off to, Jyn?”

“I’m going back to Jingor.” She lifted her chin, defiant, and met his gaze. She would not be intimidated by a thug, regardless of how often he was responsible for organising the frequent occasions when other people, like her, under Jingor’s watch, trapped her, and stole the values _she’d_ stolen. She didn’t doubt for a second that Balki was behind it, but what could she do? Wail, “ _I stole those!_ ” No. The dignity Jyn _did_ have, she’d keep, and stare Balki down.

Balki regarded her with interest, his eyes skimming over her full pockets. “It’s interesting, that,” he said, jerking his head towards the stranger, who’d stopped, and was now watching the scene with an unreadable expression. “Stealing from a Rebellion pilot. Your way of fighting scum, I suppose?” Balki’s affiliation with the Empire was barely concealed, and she knew this was his way of riling her up. Her father’s image was forced into her mind.

She kept her face deliberately neutral. “I have no interest in politics.”

Balki’s eyes, black, like the sky over Vallt – devoid of stars – glittered. “No, I’m sure you don’t.” He moved before she could stop him, faster than his bulky figure gave him credit for. Within moments, he’d pulled the stranger’s watch, adjusted it so it was dangling out of Jyn’s pocket. “Hope you enjoy your last moments of freedom, Jyn,” he murmured with a malevolent smile, and began a show of gasping and shouting. “Oh, my!” He cried, raising a trembling finger to the watch. “Thief! _Thief!_ _THIEF!_ ”

Too late, did Jyn realise his intentions. She made to run, watch be damned, but a hand shot out and captured her wrist in a bone-crushing grip. She was forced to turn, and her face met the grim, emotionless face of the pilot. “With me. Now,” he ordered, and marched her away, under the humiliating gazes of passer-bys.

Where to now? She wondered, and hoped, for the sake of her health and the healing scars along her spine, that the pilot was more humane than Jingor.

   
☽  
  


Jyn was marched far, far away from the market place, to the outskirts of Tambolor. Here, life had been extinguished by the frost and ice and snow, inhospitable. Here, the snow was pure, untouched by the muddy undersides of boots, and had been laid out in front of her, like an icy quilt. She felt the buzz of life behind her, the chatter of people, and attempted to keep the bleak feelings at bay as she saw her fate unfold.

He led her to a cargo ship, which had been neatly landed underneath one of the gaping mouths of the caverns that decorated Vallt’s landscape, beautiful, but prone to collapsing in on itself. Jyn eyed the top of the cavern mouth warily. “Why are we here?” She dared to ask, and felt his grip tighten, to the point of considerable pain.

Then: her wrist was released, and she felt her spirits lift. She couldn’t escape immediately – she had to wait for the pilot to be occupied, or distracted.

“This is my ship,” he said, and said nothing more; his tone insinuating that she was stupid if she didn’t know. She resented it.

Questions, she realised. She would distract him with questions.

“I’m aware, but.” She paused, considering her options. She had to be careful. She was his prisoner. “What are you doing in Vallt? There’s nothing here.” _Nothing a Rebellion pilot would want_ , if Balki was correct, her mind added. She badly wanted Balki to be wrong – she’d carefully avoided politics all her life. If she were to become entangled with a person associated with the Rebellion, she’d alert the attentions of the Empire; and the price she’d been careful to never get, would be put on her head.

He laughed, but his eyes were dark and the laugh was humourless. He didn’t answer her, but the implication was very clearly: _I don’t expect someone like you to know._

Her blood boiled. She badly wanted to say, _I managed to steal from you, and would have succeeded if that bastard Balki hadn’t got in my way._

He turned his back to her, and her heart leapt, her pulse thrumming throughout her whole body. This could be her _chance_. “If you’re considering escaping,” he called casually over his shoulder as he fiddled with the freighter, “Don’t bother. You’re a few miles’ trek from Tambolor.”

“I walked here,” she shot back, irked. She’d had to adapt to survive here, did he not think she was healthy?

“Yes, but you’d be returning to that scar-faced man. I don’t think he thinks fondly of you.”

“Are you poetic now?”

“No, I’m a pilot,” he said, in that same infuriating tone that implied her stupidity. She ground her teeth, spinning away from him and scanning the view of Tambolor ahead of her: sprawling buildings, rife with all kinds of criminals; underground criminal activity that didn’t seem fitting in a city amongst ideallic mountains, and sloping landscapes.

She envisioned Balki’s scarred face waiting for her, fingering the handle of his whip, and a shudder shook her body.

There was a hiss behind her, the sound of a ship’s platform being released. She felt the heavy weight of the pilot’s expectancy, and then an odd kind of relief, as she turned away from the thought of Balki, and Jingor, and towards the man, who was waiting patiently for her by the platform.

“We don’t have all day.”

 _Im_ patiently.

Jyn stepped forward, only for the head of her boot to catch an unseen rock, and stumbled. He was quick, stepping in and ducking down to catch her. For a brief moment, she welcomed the warm reliability of his arms on her waist (a respectable place, she supposed), then remembered herself, and brushed his arms aside. “I don’t need your help,” she mumbled.

She’d looked like a fool so far, which was anything but the reputation she’d built for herself in Tambolor.

“Don’t try to kid yourself,” was his blunt response. She carefully avoided eye contact with him as she stepped onto his ship, fearing the fate she was about to be wrapped up in.

As the ship released another hiss, the platform shutting behind them, and the pilot abandoned Jyn to his post, she comforted herself with the thought that whatever this man could do, Jingor had done, ten times worse.

The scars on her spine throbbed.

   
☽

   
Jyn was jolted awake. She didn’t know how many hours had passed since the ship had taken off, which frightened her: she didn’t like feeling out of control. She felt groggy, too, and her joints complained at how she’d had to curl up in the corner, several boxes digging into her from different directions. Miraculously, she’d managed to rest, amongst the sharp edges of the boxes and the ship’s swaying and gurgling noises.

It _never_ shut up.

Now, though, the freighter was silent, and Jyn’s suspicions were aroused. She got to her feet (another sure sign something was up), and wandered into the cockpit: empty. Her hands traced the leather of the pilot seat, and noted the imprint of where the pilot had been. Had they crashed? Was the pilot dead? Was she alone, again?

Why was there cause for sadness if she was alone? For most of her life, she’d battled the urge to be with other people. She wasn’t about to allow one measly, rude pilot open those floodgates.

She wandered back into the main body of the ship, and sat down on a box, mulling her options. The visor over the window overlooking the outside had been cleverly activated, so Jyn wasn’t able to piece together where she was. She wasn’t sure which she hated more: her lack of control, or lack of direction.

There was, really, one option, despite Jyn’s pretending otherwise: to venture outside, and to hope she wouldn’t be shot on sight. She approached the closed platform cautiously, turning her head to where the controls were embedded in a wall of the ship, lit up in greens and reds, all very enticing. She knew not to meddle with delicate things such as spaceships.

She recalled her father telling her enraptured six year old self how some Empire ships had controls installed them, capable of sucking the air out, or ejecting passengers at will; features that had delighted her younger self, but at her laugh, her father’s face transformed into a grave, weary expression. She couldn’t forget his words, for he looked so tormented when he said, “Promise me, stardust, that you will never go near a spaceship. Ever.”

She’d forgotten his warning, and the memory made her feel hollow, like any happiness that she’d kept close, had been carved out.

Painful though it was, Jyn forced her mind to go back, struggling as it fought to not remember memories she’d repressed. She _had_ to remember, travelling back a whole ten years, to the memory of her mother’s smile, or her father’s gruff voice, and his gentle stories. She promised herself that the pain she felt now would be worth her freedom.  
Or her imprisonment.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she acted on instinct, stretching her hand out. She was careful not to push anything, only feel the buttons that jutted out. She brushed past one in particular, and paused. What had her father said?

 _The largest button is the most important one_ , he’d said to her seriously, like she understood every word (she listened, enthralled, like she did too). _It’s a pilot’s last resource. When he is in danger, he presses it, and the doors will open. He will be lucky if he survives._

She prayed she’d survive, too, and pushed the button. She only had to wait moments before the ship was juddering, groaning like it’d never had to resort to its emergency protocol; and the doors opened, the platform swinging down with a loud clatter.

Jyn saw the blur of people moving, jumping out of the way of the platform with a cry, and then, everything stilled. She was stood inside the freighter, a whole five foot three, against the swathes of soldiers that were positioned in a offensive stance, all aiming blasters at her. She fell back onto her default reaction: defensive.

Crossing her arms, she made sure to catch the eye of every soldier when she asked, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Following my orders,” said a familiar voice, as a figure wove through the crowds of soldiers. She could spot his narrow shoulders and jacket from where she was stood. He stopped just in front of the platform, and before she could stop herself, her eyes raked over him: his face had been cleaned of the oil and grease, he’d tamed his hair into something more presentable; and he’d pulled on a new pair of cargo trousers.

His mouth thinned. “I’ve read your case file, _Lianna_. Or is it Jyn? People aren’t too clear on that detail.”

He was trying to provoke her. Unfortunately for him, she was trained in Balki level provocation, and Balki beat. The pilot had no edge on her, though he was parading around as if he did, and it was irritating to watch. When she didn’t answer, his dark eyes flashed. “Take her to one of the holding cells,” he ordered, having tired of trying to goad her, and strode off.

She bit the inside of her cheek in an effort to not hit out, aware struggling would waste her energy, and let the men haul her away. “Rough for the Rebellion, aren’t you?” She taunted, and was granted with one of the men halting, and the ferocity in his voice when he snapped:

“You mind your tongue, _scum_. You know nothing about what we do.”

“Poke sticks at the Empire? I know.” Her cheek stung from the sudden slap, jarring her neck with the shock of it.

The soldier’s eyes were wild as he hissed out, “You piece of – “

“Tristan.”

The man jerked back like he was the one who’d been slapped. “Senator, I –“

Jyn drew her eyes away from the despicable man, and onto the woman who’d saved her from a fate unbefitting of a Rebellion fighter. Freedom fighter was a loose term, she’d realised in her short time here. The woman gave Jyn the ghost of a smile, and motioned for the soldiers to leave them. Her eyes were kind, enough so that Jyn’s shoulders loosened, able to relax a little. The woman had the appearance of a mother: emanating warmth, with pale skin like crumpled paper. Her red hair was thinning with her age.

“Jyn Erso, I understand.” Her tone dazed Jyn a little; it had been years since a stranger had been welcoming towards her. She’d become accustomed to harsh, hostile voices, or mocking, like the pilot’s. “Welcome to the Rebellion.” She made a grand gesture with her arms, as if to suggest it was a place of grandeur. Jyn peered around the outline of the ship, and saw nothing but soldiers busying themselves, amongst red and grey scenery, spaceships and concrete. Though the entrance was stooped low, she caught a glimpse of crumbling architecture and greenery.

“Where are we?” she demanded to know.

She didn’t know what to make of the crinkling of the Senator’s eyes. “Yavin 4. It’s where the Rebellion is based. I thought you’d have known.” There was no mockery behind her words; only disbelief. Jyn felt exposed by her study. “Has your father not told you anything?”

Jyn felt that her mouth must have filled with blood, as it tasted of a metallic tang. “I haven’t seen him since I was eight.”

The Senator pursed her lips, releasing Jyn from the exposure of her gaze, clearly troubled. From where Jyn was stood, she could see the harsh line of her side profile; her high cheekbones; and the short crop of her red hair. She didn’t miss the worry lines etched into the Senator’s face, nor the clenching of her jaw. “I don’t know where he went,” she added, as way of apology. It felt lousy.

“I don’t expect you to know much,” the Senator responded, again lacking any cruelty in her tone. “Come with me. I’ll escort you to where you need to be.”

“I’m expected?”

“You’re our guest of honour.”

☽

   
“Galen Erso: last sighted on Vallt, ten years ago. Believed to be in league with the Empire – or dead,” the droid recited in a monotone Jyn didn’t appreciate. She scowled at it. Its one eye, unblinking and unnerving, stared back. It quickly became a game of _blink, you lose_ , till the Senator interceded.

“Thank you, CZ-12,” she said smoothly, ushering the droid away. If _sass_ was possible for droids, the CZ unit would most certainly possess it, as it blinked at her, and stiffly walked away.

Jyn drummed her fingers on the hologram projector, simmering with impatience. The Senator – Mon Mothma, she’d insisted Jyn call her – had led her here: a small room, with sloping roofs and enough equipment and people crammed in one place for Jyn to feel claustrophobic. People were everywhere: chattering amongst themselves, laughing, others more focused as they pored over what appeared to be blueprints, and made scrawling calculations on their boards.

Jyn watched the laughing, happy people with discontentment. How they could be happy in the era of the Empire, she did not know. Were they not aware, despite their Rebellion charade, that the Empire owned them? Balki had made very clear to Jyn that she was their property, that freedom was merely the fantasy of fools. She hated him with every fibre of her being, but she grudgingly admitted he was right.

So long as the Empire ruled the galaxy, those who lived in it, could not call themselves free.

“They hold onto hope,” Mon Mothma said softly, drawing Jyn’s attention away from them, to her. Under the glowing, blue light that the holographic projector cast, the dark shadows and creases etched into her face were painstakingly obvious. She looked much, much older; and much more burdened. “A _Rebellion_ holds onto hope.” She waited.

“So you think you’re free?” Jyn blurted out, and while her words didn’t sound bitter, they sounded presumptuous. She loathed to note she sounded like that pilot. If she survived here, she’d wring his neck.

Mon Mothma smiled. “No, but we hope one day we can be. If we didn’t hope, we’d go mad.”

Jyn’s brain quickly formulated a cutting response: _Are you calling me mad? I was alone, for years, prepared to live like that for the rest of my life, and_ I’m _not mad._ But the insolent, immature nature of the tone put her off, and she chose to chew on a fingernail instead. Now that she wasn’t acting defensively, quickfiring snappy answers back, she was at a loss for words.

She’d become uncivilised, was the stomach-lurching realisation. Jingor, and Balki, and all their thugs had brought her up in an environment where she’d had to scrap to survive; and in doing so, she didn’t know how to act around a kind, gentle figure. She scowled at the thought: she didn’t know how to _converse_.

“Something wrong?”

 _Plenty_. Jyn fixed Mon Mothma with a pointed look. “Senator, why am I here?” They’d dawdled enough.

The shuddering sigh from her was response enough. “Jyn, the Rebellion is trying to locate your father. We think – “

The sound of doors opening and frantic footsteps interrupted her, and made them both turn towards the way they’d come in. “You _can’t_ tell her,” said the very man Jyn intended to wring the neck of. "Excuse me, Senator, but I believe Jyn Erso to be a risk.”

“Yes, the guards you situated outside her position said very much,” responded Mon Mothma, bemused.

Jyn revelled in the bob of his throat, the wild look in his eyes; the sudden realisation that he could do nothing, he was helpless; and she would be untouched. “It was a precaution.”

“It was _overkill_ , Captain.”

Captain? She regarded the man with interest. He was too skinny, too scruffy to be a Captain. There was nothing impressive or formidable about him, and when she glanced down, she could have sworn he was wearing slippers.

“I’m the guest of honour,” she dared to inform him, but resisted batting her eyes. The remark was enough: a low growl was ripped from his throat, but he kept his mouth shut in the presence of the Senator. Jyn was smug.

She caught the wary look Mon Mothma shot her, her eyes going back and forth between Jyn and the Captain. Jyn’s guess was that she’d worked out there were no feelings of … _generosity_ between them, and she could see her mind working like clockwork in an effort to work out how to ease the tension.

“Captain, Jyn Erso is necessary to our operations,” the Senator finally said, and Jyn’s beam broadened. “No harm will come to her while she is on our base.”

“Senator – “

“I want you to direct Jyn to her rooms,” she continued, in a tone steelier than the last, which was very clear: _this discussion is over_. “Show her where she’ll be staying for the next month or so.”

Jyn witnessed his subdued defeat; the quick nod of his head and his jaw clenched so tight, the line of it could cut through glass. “Yes Senator.” He glanced at her, still sat comfortably down, and his eyes blazed. “Miss Erso.” He cleverly disguised a command as a welcome signal, so when she got up to join him, she kept a safe wedge of distance between them. She didn’t want to be found dead at the hands of the Captain, with his bruises circling her throat.

As they went to exit, the Senator’s voice lofted between them: “Make sure she is comfortable, Captain!”

“With pleasure,” he seethed, a foot’s distance between them.

Her gutsy, impulsive self couldn’t resist a quick smile as they stepped outside the doors, and into the large expanse of the base. “Oh, I can’t _wait_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jyn sulks. k-s20 is unhelpful. and cassian's riddled with contradictions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't suppose there's any point warning you guys about sexual tension because
> 
> well, because we're all here for jyn/cassian sexual tension. i think.

Once they were out of the Senator's sight and away from the straying eyes of the other Rebellion members, the Captain wasn't gentle.

His hands curled over the knobs over her shoulders, which she took a moment to blindly think,  _This is nice,_ before he shoved her against the nearest wall, and the wind was knocked out of her. She distinctly heard a  _crunch_ that could have belonged to her, and her body was flooded with pain, recoiling from the force that had caused it. 

She was preoccupied with trying to catch her breath that it took her a few moments to tune in on his voice. "... What have you done with it! Tell me!" He demanded, shaking her roughly. It was a mistake, as it prompted a fresh wave of pain and she was too distracted to answer. He realised this, as his grip on her shoulders loosened, and he repeated, "Tell me what you've done with them."

"With what?" It hurt to talk, to force air into her lungs. Her bones felt brittle.

His hand, with surprising gentleness, tilted her head towards him, so she caught his commanding gaze. "My watch! And my credits. I know you took them, you..."

He stopped himself, but Jyn was quick. Her mind supplied the rest:  _You're a thief, you take what you can't have._ That stung, and she wasn't sure why. She'd heard worse, from far more despicable people.

 _It's because he's a Captain._ He was a man with a title, with importance; she assumed there were people who idolised him and the acknowledgement that he, a man who was  _supposed_ to be just and fair was prepared to knock her about, like she was the worthless ragdoll he regarded he as. "I don't have them," she snapped, regaining some of her pluck. She didn't feel inclined to return his valuables, as he'd treated her so poorly.

She'd been foolish to think she wouldn't be touched here, simply because the Rebels were supposed to be the good guys, supposed to rise up against the Empire and overthrow a regime of terror, and of oppression. Briefly, with Mon Mothma, she'd pictured herself at ease here, relaxed among people that she - perhaps  _one_ day - could call her comrades. Her throat felt like it had been stuffed with lead. She'd been wrong, and any trust she'd intended to show these people, disappeared.

"I'm losing patience, Jyn," he said, and she felt his white-hot fury wash over her.

Her pain was dulling, but it remained a reminder that he'd dared to hurt her. All over a rusting watch and credits. He'd shown her no respect, so she planned to return the favour. "I'm sorry,  _Captain,_ this is you  _patient_?"

She heard his growl, animalistic and low, and for a moment, she feared he would snap her in half with his hands. He was a good few inches taller than her, and stronger, against her slight frame. She was malnourished, too. If he chose to attack her, she wasn't entirely sure she could defend herself. She shut her eyes, preparing herself.

Then:

"I'll get someone else to show you to your rooms."

She registered his footsteps, loud at first, but quickly fading into nothing. She could hear her own heartbeat, and her quickened breathing rate. When she opened her eyes, the Captain was gone. He was a dot in the distance, and she saw how the crowds of soldiers parted for him, like he was some great, honourable being. It took all of her willpower not to peel herself away from the wall, to run up to the soldiers and scream,  _He's not honourable! He's a monster!_ But, as idyllic this pocket of society seemed, a word of a thief against the word of a Captain would mean nothing.

She swallowed the bitter truth, and parted from the wall, determined to not be shaken up anymore.

Jyn was approximately five metres away from the wall when a droid the size of a miniature skyscraper swiftly manoeuvred around a corner, shielding her exit (and view). She was met with its black, metallic chest, riddled with dents and scuff marks. She craned her neck to meet its face, to its two hollow eyes, sunken into its pea head. Something about the droid made her shiver, something recognisable; but she couldn’t pinpoint it.  
  
“And you are?” She was irritated. This entire day she’d had to deal with stops and starts, with people getting in her way.  
  
Even a droid.  
  
“K-2SO. I was designated to watch you.”  
  
“Well, undesignate yourself,” she said, aware she was sounding ridiculous. Once a droid had been assigned to something, it was rare it would rebel. From the high stature, the blank, emotionless eyes and spindly legs, K-2SO was a security droid. Orders to security droids were treasured, and Jyn was confident this one wouldn’t be any different. Whether she preferred the Captain or the droid remained to be seen.  
  
“This designation is no more pleasant to me, Miss Erso.” Jyn blinked at the unexpected tone, thick with sarcasm. “Your cooperation would make matters easier.”  
  
She crossed her arms. “If I don’t cooperate?”  
  
The droid didn’t miss a beat, “Then I will have to resort to brutal force.”  
  
She liked his daring. It differentiated him from every other brainless droid she’d met. Clearly, this droid was programmed differently. “I guess I’ll have the delight of you escorting me to my rooms.”  
  
“Come this way,” it ordered, and added after they’d passed three freighters and an X-wing, “I take no delight in this. I thought it was imperative you know.”  
  
Jyn couldn’t stifle the smile before it broke out at the droid’s stark honesty, and if the droid had the ability to form its features into an expression of bewilderment, it would have.  
  
“Why are you smiling,” it asked in a flat tone that was part of its programming, but it managed to sound thick with confusion.    
  
She merely shrugged. “Never met a droid with sass, that’s all.”  
  
It paused, swivelling its head towards her. “You think I’m sassy?” it asked, this time sounding incredulous. She awarded him with a pointed stare, as if to say: _You think you’re not?_ It swivelled back, and didn’t glance at her during the time it took to reach the bunker section of the base. “You will be staying here. Goodbye.” It marched off, abandoning her to the mercy of the tunnels, carved into the soft stone of the base.  
  
The bunkers were bleak, cramped underneath the low ceilings. They were lowly lit with hanging bulbs that seemed like serious safety hazards, as Jyn ducked under two and narrowly missed being hit in the eye with another. The bunkers seemed to stretch on forever, thin tunnels that felt suffocating, the further Jyn ventured in. Despite the glamour of the technology of the Rebel base, and the buzz of the Rebels, Jyn recognised then the underlying hardship of a life disconnected from the Empire, the daring to not conform.  
  
At least in Vallt, she’d had the illusion of freedom with the open space, and sprawling landscapes. Here, there was little room to even _turn_. She kept walking, ignoring her instinct to climb out of the dark hole she’d been forced into, to breathe fresh air. She passed a cluster of Rebels, leant against the walls like they weren’t grimy, filthy things. She felt their gazes boring into her, and ground her teeth. “What?”  
  
One of them, a lanky, greasy-haired youngster who couldn’t have been older than Jyn, grinned. “Checking out the newbies,” he replied, lazily. He had something wedged between his teeth, twirling it around like a farmer, with straw. “Heard Cassian was bringing in a batch.”  
  
The words meant nothing to her, but his tone aggravated Jyn: lazy, pretentious, far too at ease around her. She resisted the urge to press her arm to his throat until he was squirming, and snapped, “What I’m doing here is none of your business.”  
  
“Touchy. Cassian can’t have brought you in.”  
  
“You’d be happy, he means,” supplied a scrawny blonde girl, clad in an orange uniform so harsh and bright it hurt her eyes. “Cassian’s … something else.” She got a distant look in her eyes, soppy and clearly absorbed with whoever _Cassian_ was. “Dreamy, I mean,” she added, her lips disgustingly pink.  
  
“Right.” Jyn didn’t care much for this conversation – a gaggle of teenagers loitering, wasting time, idolising a Cassian she’d never met. She’d been considering asking for their help – sickening though it was – in directions to where her bunker was, but she was thoroughly put off by the sheen of grease on the boy’s face; the airheaded girl; and the others, silent but content with watching, and smirking to themselves.  
  
She turned to go, and heard one of them sigh, “He was wearing _that_ jacket today, too.” And froze.  
  
She addressed the blonde, whom she had pinned as the one who’d know the answer to her question; if she was as obsessed as she appeared. “Brown jacket, too tight on him, with an emblem stitched in the left pocket?” Her stomach coiled up, tight, when the blonde nodded. She opened her mouth, probably about to titter _It fits him just right_ , so Jyn quickly said, “Shut up. I’m thinking.” There was an audible gasp, belonging to one of the stragglers, but Jyn didn’t care. Her mind was turning over this new information, trying to process it.  
  
_Captain_ Cassian? Captain Cassian. Captain Cassian, who was, matter-of-factly, idolised by the youngsters and fantasised about. She was desperate to tell them, with their vacant expressions and adoration, that the Captain had hurt her, _would_ hurt her, and probably planned to in the future. That she wasn’t safe, and neither were they. That they should shed their dreams of him, and replace it with something more valuable. That they had skills to learn, training to undergo, because the Rebellion was trying to overthrow the Empire and the fight would not be easy.  
  
“He’s a prick,” she said bluntly, and left them to cope with it.

  
☽

   
On the corner of a corridor, no doubt leading to another tunnel, with more rooms and dug-out tunnels, was Jyn’s bunker. Her name had been scrawled on the door, in dried red paint that was eerie, mimicking blood. Blood was harder to dry, though – she should know. Wired into the door, was a small touchpad, seemingly suspended in the air.  
  
She took a risk: she pressed her fingertip to the surface of it, and waited. The touchpad lit up, illuminating the smudge of her fingerprint, and the door unlocked with a hiss. She stepped back, incredibly wary of technology she didn’t understand. Back on Vallt, she slept in hammocks or the crevices of doorways; smoothly working technology that somehow recognised her before she’d even been introduced to it didn’t scream _familiar, trust me_.  
  
The inside of the bunker was thoroughly underwhelming. The interior was very much like the rest of the corridors: bleak, grey shades that, combined with the sleek, silver floor were very mismatched. A single bed cowered in the corner, made up with crisp white sheets. Opposite the bed was a sink, fragments peeling away, and a toilet. The starkness of the room only served to make Jyn feel more alone. Here, she felt much more confined; contained. She wouldn’t be surprised if the mirror above the toilet was two-way, so she could be observed, like the prisoner she suspected she was.  
  
Jyn studied herself now: she was dirtier than she’d expected, which was a bit of a kick to the gut. To picture herself, with a blotch of dirt and dust on her cheek and across her forehead, face down Cassian. So sure of herself, so confident. Her hair lay in bedraggled tendrils, and it was with a heavy sigh she untied her ponytail, shaking it across her back. Uselessly, she tried to comb it through with her fingers, to no effect. Her eyes were green, feline-like in the light. But that was the only positive part.  
  
The rest of her was a mess, like she’d been torn apart and clumsily tried to stich the pieces back together. She felt like it. Sighing, she perched herself on the edge of the bed, which felt cool to the touch; steely. Her hand went to the pocket of her trousers, curling around the smooth Kyber crystal. She’d kept it hidden on her possession this entire time, sure that she couldn’t bear to part with it. Cassian had torn her from the one place she vaguely recognised as ‘home’, without her clothes, or possessions, or even credits to tip a corrupt pilot to fly her out of here. But she had the crystal, which was the only thing that really mattered.  
  
She hung it around her neck, the crystal snug against the space between her breasts. She tucked it underneath her black shirt, which was filthy too – creased and crumpled and unwashed. She dared to take a whiff at her armpits, and was repulsed.  
  
Jyn _ached_ for a bath. On Vallt, in the summer when the weather was too humid and she sweat too much to be able to recycle clothes for more than a few days, she’d wander into the mountains, where a spring bubbled up from the core of the earth, and bathe in one of the pools. She tilted her head back, remembering the warm, welcoming embrace of the water; and how free she’d felt, alone in the vast expanse of mountains and silent, except for the occasional call of the clawbirds that had migrated to Vallt.  
  
She never expected to want to go back to there, but she missed her freedom. Perhaps this is what Balki had intended. Perhaps he _knew_ she’d be locked up here, a common criminal from Vallt that the Rebels couldn’t trust. Would death have been preferable?  
  
So absorbed in her mind, a knock on her door cut cleanly through her thoughts, and startled her out of her skin. Her hand shot to her pocket, where she’d sometimes stash away a blaster, or a makeshift dagger, but she had nothing. If Cassian had come to kill her, she was weaponless. Defenceless. Not to say she’d die without a fight –  
  
Her hands balled into fists as she stood up, readying herself to spring onto whomever was on the other side of the door. Her mind was racing, strategizing how she could pull this off. The doorway was narrow, meaning any manoeuvres were out of the question; but she’d have the advantage of surprise. She could aim for their face, or ribs, winding them so she’d be able to slip away. She’d never hitched a freighter before, but she supposed there was a first time for everything.  
  
Her advance on the door seemed to go in slow motion, her pulse loud, demanding in her ears. Once she’d neared it, the door hissed, and slid open. All she saw was the outline of a body, before she pounced. She seized them by the shoulders, and had them pressed up against the wall in moments, her arm to their throat. She noted that they didn’t struggle, and instead went incredibly still in her grasp.  
  
“Please don’t kill me!” the … threatening figure squeaked. Jyn’s brow furrowed, but kept her arm to the figure’s throat. Just for protection. “I came to bring your things!” the … the girl, startlingly blue and terrified, pointed a finger towards a stack of clothes on the floor, amongst other scattered items. Jyn loosened her arm, puzzled.  
  
“You’re here to bring me my things,” she repeated in a flat tone. The girl nodded furiously. She released her from the wall, not feeling right about attacking someone who didn’t pose as a threat. It felt like she was picking on the weak. “What’s your name?”  
  
“Aeola,” the girl answered in a trembling voice. “I, um … I run errands for the Captain. He wanted me to bring you this.” Wide-eyed and still frightened, she crouched down and picked up the stack, holding it out to Jyn.  
  
She couldn’t believe her own ears. “ _Cassian_ sent you?”  
  
“The Captain sent me, yep, so please don’t kill me. I still have a few more things to do.” Jyn noticed the bizarre tendrils sprouting from the girl’s head, blue and striking, with markings, shaking. The girl noticed her obvious staring, and added in a still pathetic voice, “I’m a Twi’lek. They’re my, um, lekku.”  
  
Jyn broke her gaze, feeling she was forcing the girl to undergo painful study, and took the stack. “Thank you.”  
  
“No problem.” There was an awkward pause, during which Jyn turned her back to Aeola, and began organising her things: one towel, two pairs of trousers, and three shirts. All shades of grey, beige or black. She ran her hands over them, pleased to note they were soft, and comfortable. There was a crude bar of soap, and a toothbrush. No hairbrush to tackle her unruly hair, though.  
  
“You know, they’re not as scary as they say,” Aeola piped up from behind her. Jyn tried not to jump, forgetting she was there. “Um, apart from the attack. But that happens, right? With newbies.”  
  
Jyn tried to placate herself with organising and re-organising, knowing Aeola’s remarks would not lead them anywhere good. She guessed that around here, attacks on fellow Rebels were not looked upon kindly. _You’re not a Rebel, though_ , a thought reasoned; but Jyn shrugged it off. She’d use the Rebel base as sanctuary, under the Senator’s watch, until she could get away. She didn’t care for politics.  
  
“I was a newbie,” Aeola continued, and Jyn gritted her teeth. “One of the Rebels found me. Um. On Tatooine.” She didn’t take any hints from Jyn’s silence, so Jyn tried to drown out her voice. Until she heard the word ‘freedom’, and her ears perked up. “… very little freedom.”  
  
“There are people free in the galaxy?” Jyn asked, twisting around. Her attention only prompted Aeola to be flustered, all over again.  
  
“There’s a colony on Endor. People think. It’s a rumour, really.” A nervous laugh followed. “I don’t know what I make of it.”  
  
“Right.” Jyn turned back to her things, thoroughly disappointed. If she ever had a shot at freedom, she’d take it, without hesitation. But pursuing a rumour would be madness.  
  
“Um, Miss Erso?” She heard her meek voice ask, and snapped:  
  
“Does everyone on this damn base know who I am?”  
  
Aeola shrank bank. “I’ve been informed to tell you dinner is now,” she said, and fled.  
  
Jyn considered the clothes, her mouth twisted into a wry smile. If she’d been given them to wear…  
  
Wear them she certainly will.

  
  
☽

  
Jyn followed the murmuring of chatter to outside, and looked upon the tents with incredulity. Dozens of tents had been pitched up outside the base – or a towering temple, as Jyn realised – big, sweeping things, with sturdy frames and cloaked with white cloth. From the outside, she could only make out spots of light, and indistinguishable shapes. They looked incredibly out of place, in a clearing surrounded by thick foliage, and blooming fauna Jyn had never seen before; blood oranges and sunset yellows and bleeding reds.  
  
Her upper lip curled in distaste; but she had no choice but to follow the people scattering into different tents, to the source of the smell of roasting meat. She entered the tent furthest from the temple’s entrance, perched on the outside of the clearing, and seemingly the most quiet. She didn’t want to have to encounter hustle and bustle, or rowdy Rebels. Once she entered and spied Cassian, sat at a table of thirteen, joking and laughing; her stomach plummeted.  
  
She turned to go, desperate to avoid his gaze and the gaze of his comrades, but a group of people flooded in, and she had no way of escaping. Desperate, she scanned the room for a table that was empty, where she could enjoy solace, but they were all occupied. Her feet dragged across the thick grass sprouting up, unwilling, to a rectangular table able to seat thirteen, but currently seated four. The others paid her no attention, engaged in a heated argument that Jyn only caught snatches of.  
  
“… No he is not the best pilot! Lunith sucks _ass_. Drygon’s far better.”  
  
Jyn tore into the leg of chicken on her plate, too hungry to be dainty. Preoccupied with droning out the voices of her fellow table-goers, she made the mistake of glancing up, and met Cassian’s stare. His expression was unreadable, but he quickly looked away, as if the sight of her burned, and she supposed that was enough. She felt her anger stir, watching him as he ducked his head to say something in the ear of an Amaran, who flicked his black, beady eyes towards her and grinned, exposing a set of canines to be reckoned with. At one point he threw his head back and laughed, sounding rabid. She wanted to tear his stupid red, glossy fur out.  
  
When the charade continued, Jyn couldn’t stand anymore. She stood up, her chair scraping the floor with such force the room fell silent. People gawped, others whispered, and Cassian … Cassian looked coolly back at her.  
  
“Hey, kid,” hissed one of the people on her table: a boy she thought? She hadn’t bothered to look. “Sit … back … down.” After long, hard, staring, Jyn sat herself down. A public fight was not what she wanted. Noise returned to the room, and it resumed as usual. “Smart choice,” said the voice, and she turned her head. A boy, who didn’t look older than sixteen, with a cherub face, flushed cheeks and wispy blonde hair like a crown on his head, was the source of the voice. She didn’t know how to feel about a boy who looked _twelve_ , calling her _kid_.  
  
“What do you know,” she said, and his mouth twitched in a would-be smile.  
  
“I know because I’ve seen Cassian fight. You wouldn’t stand a chance,” he offered, and though it sounded like he was trying to be helpful; Jyn felt insulted. A good drop-kick to the face was exactly what Cassian needed.  
  
“I don’t know what all the fuss is about him,” she muttered, picking at her meat, and he heard her. His eyes, the colour of one of the blue vines she’d seen growing outside, sparkled. He was so … jolly. She shuddered.  
  
“He’s a good pilot,” the boy countered.  
  
“He’s an asshole.”  
  
“Yeah, but a _good_ asshole.”  
  
“You fawn over him too?” she shot at him, picturing the boy with a face freckled with acne, and the blonde with questionable fashion sense, parading around in orange.  
  
He shuddered, and she found that she was pleased at the first sign of repulsion in regards to Cassian’s mini fan club. “God, no. I’m not one of … them.” He paused, and she felt like he was assessing her: her hand touched her hair, wondering if it really was as dirty as it looked. “Gorgo Anders,” he extended a hand, and she stared at it. It was quickly retracted. “My friends call me Gor.”  
  
“I’m not a friend,” she said flatly – _truthfully_ – and was surprised that his beam didn’t falter. It was as though he’d been dosed with something. But she felt obligated to return the favour. “Jyn Erso.”  
  
When he didn’t gawp, she felt that she could breath. She’d had enough of being under the microscope. “You’re a newbie,” he guessed.  
  
“I don’t come here by _choice_ ,” she said, with what she felt was the right amount of force. He didn’t blink, which was a little eerie for someone who looked like a prepubescent boy.  
  
“I grew up here,” he said finally, so distant she’d almost forgotten he was there. She tried to imagine what that would be look: Would it be less lonely, if you were surrounded by people? Or would it be suffocating, because there were people there, all of the time? “I’m twenty now,” he added proudly. She raised a delicate eyebrow, and he guffawed. “You don’t think I look twenty!”  
  
“You look twelve,” she said with brutal honesty she realised wasn’t known here.  
  
“You look eighteen.”  
  
“I am eighteen.”  
  
“I’ve got a good eye, then,” he grinned, and she found him so ridiculous she returned to eating. He didn’t bother her after that, and they ate in companionable silence; despite the three seat difference between them, and the hushed whispers of his friends. They weren’t subtle, and Jyn found herself tearing into her food with more vigour than was necessary. She stood up to go, _more_ than ready to go; and a hand grabbed her back down.  
  
“What was – “  
  
“A toast!” called out one of the men on Cassian’s table, raising a glass of God knows what – Jyn guessed it was Algarine wine, judging by the high flush across their cheekbones – prompting the room to do the same. Obstinately, Jyn stayed still. “To the brave men fighting for the Rebellion!” The room echoed it, and downed their glasses. Jyn was left staring at her crumbed plate, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. The tent felt suffocating all of a sudden, pressing down on her; she had to get some air.  
  
She got out of her chair quickly, before Gorgo, or _Gor_ could protest, and wove her way through the tables of drunk Rebellion fighters, some of them no older than Jyn, and pushed her way through the flaps. The moment she was outside, she felt she could breathe. The pressure eased. Her chest felt lighter. She took opportunity of her solitude, and wandered further from the clearing, till she was right against the edge, peering into the gloom of the forests.  
  
“You’re not allowed in there.”  
  
She didn’t have to turn to retort, “Since when do you care?” She wheeled around, rubbing her shoulders for emphasis, and thought she saw him … wince? But Cassian was heartless. Empathetic was not part of his nature. Cutting, cruel and strategic, was.  
  
“I don’t. But the Senator will notice your absence.”  
  
“Sod the Senator.” Her words were a mistake the moment they left her mouth. Cassian’s eyes flashed, and he took a step closer to her. Less than a metre away, he felt like he was pressed up right against her. Her body tensed, in anticipation.  
  
“You,” he growled – she felt this was becoming habitual now – “don’t have the right to insult the Senator. You are _nothing_.”  
  
“And I suppose you’re the hero, the _symbol_ of the Rebellion?” She asked, her tone taunting. She didn’t like to be reminded of how far down she’d sunk. Cassian knew nothing of her past.  
  
His eyes narrowed to slits. He leant in – she held her breath – and brushed his mouth over her ear, while she suppressed a shiver. “Don’t pretend to understand what you can never know,” he said, and stalked off. Her eyes seared into the back of him, beginning to realise that his broad shoulders, slim waist, was all she was going to see for a while.  
  
She held her hand to her ear, the ghost of his mouth there, minutes after he was gone. _  
_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jyn experiences the local wildlife on yavin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not my favourite chapter exactly, more of a filler so we can get to the real action. 
> 
> this is a slow burn story, so i can't rush into cassian/jyn straight away. apologies to anyone who was rooting for them to get together in chapter 3 (i was too, don't worry).

Jyn was feeling restless. She couldn’t sleep. Her skin itched, and her mind, in some sort of stubborn resistance, kept replaying her encounter with Cassian, from earlier. His dark eyes. His mouth. Her ear –

She leapt out of bed, hoping exploring would distract her. She couldn’t stand to think that _Cassian_ was the cause of the hot flush, rising from her neck to her cheeks. Behind the door, she paused. Was this wise? Was there a curfew? There was so little she knew; so lacking had the Senator been in her informative meeting with Jyn. Then, her skin _flared_ , as though to say: _You are not part of the Rebellion_. _They do_ not _own you_. Decisive, she stepped outside the door, and balked.

The gloom of the tunnels had intensified, with the lights switched off. Her heart, which had been steadily beating, began to beat faster. The niggling doubt wormed its way in, taking advantage of her hesitation: Did she _really_ want to do this? What if she got lost in the gloom? Or worse – encountered Cassian? She was sure he had quarters elsewhere, a _Captain_ like him; but she’d also been sure he wouldn’t be dining in the tent furthest from the base. He’d been appearing in all sorts of places, like he wanted to throw Jyn's understanding of him out of whack. It was as though he _lived_ to show her up.

Her hand had landed on the wall before she could stop herself, wincing the slickness of it. Jyn persisted, and used the wall as a way of guiding herself out of the tunnels. The gloom was pressing down on her, compressing her memories – it hurt to think. She tried, regardless, her mind vaguely remembering her route to her bunker. Luckily for her, there was silence in the tunnels, and she didn’t stumble across a … guard, or a soldier on high alert. She sensed that this was the sort of place where they’d implement such restrictive things.

Long after she’d set off – it was hard to estimate exactly how long: without the sun, or the moon peeking out at her like they had on Vallt; she had no grasp on time, she was blind – her eyes spied a light, and she stalked towards it, determined. _A light at the end of the tunnel_ , she thought humourlessly. When she stepped out of the tunnels and into the main body of the base, she felt she could breathe. It was less stuffy, less … confining here, and she made her way out confidently.

 _There it was_ : the open sky. From where she was, she could make out three, maybe four moons; all silver globes hung up prettily in the ink blue canvas of the sky – and a smaller, redder speck some distance away from them. On Vallt, she’d only ever had one moon to gaze at. Here, things were differently, clearly; and she couldn’t draw her eyes away from the red speck, which was unlike anything on the frosty planet of Vallt. It reminded her of the desert, and heat, and a haze.

“That’s Yavin,” said a voice close to her eye, and Jyn whirled around, to kick the figure solidly in the chest. He staggered back with a grunt, and, doubled over, Jyn recognised him as Gorgo Anders.

“Shouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” she informed him coolly, regarding his position with disinterest. He didn’t answer, making a big show of heaving, bent over, and clutching at his chest. “Now you’re just being babyish,” she snapped, but inspected him warily. He hadn’t budged, and she began to wonder if she had kicked too hard. “Gorgo – ?” She inched closer: her first mistake. Gorgo _sprung_ up, seized both of her arms, and flipped her over, onto the ground. Seeing the ground come up to meet her, albeit blurred, she’d braced herself for impact. She wasn’t as winded, and only took a few moments to catch her breath.

A hand was offered. “Sorry, kid,” he grinned, and she found the term so irksome – especially when said in a fond tone – that she got up herself, dusted herself off. She caught _impressed_ flash across his face. “You really are tough, aren’t you?” He asked, sounding a little in awe.

She bridled at his attention. “People are saying I’m tough?”

He shrugged, feigning disinterest; but she’d already called him out on it. “Some.” 

"Who?”

“No one you’d know,” he answered honestly, and she scowled. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

Jyn paused, considering. _Defensive defensive defensive_ came to mind, but that was a part of her she’d rather shed. Granted, she’d defend herself in a fight and _wouldn’t_ hesitate to protect her life over anyone else’s; but to continue to use a skill Jingor had ingrained into her, made her stomach clench. “I needed air,” she said finally, and watched Gorgo’s face carefully. When there was no sign he’d reprimand her, or laugh at her, she added, “It got too stifling in there.”

“That why you left the tent?” His tone was inviting.

Thinking back to the sight of Cassian, practically _suffocating_ under people’s attention and willingness to please him, she shook her head. “Certain people …” she started, and cut herself off. The boy from the tunnels, acting too cool to measure, was strutting outside, followed by the adoring blonde, and a couple others who were mimicking his stride; skinny, spineless prepubescent boys who looked absurd with their chests stuck out. Gorgo noticed her distraction, glanced over his shoulder, and snorted.

“Don’t take any notice of them,” he advised, “They’re obsessed with the titled people here, fancy that they’ll end up the same. He” – Gorgo jerked his head towards the boy, whose demeanour was laughable – “wants to be a Captain. Brags on and on about it. As for Missy, she’s a power hunter. Chases after anyone with power.” Jyn's eyes followed the blonde, who was talking with the boy, and tittering. Jyn was sure she would have felt sympathetic, if she wasn’t already preoccupied with feeling anger at how one track minded they were. How airheaded. Lacking aspiration.

“Cassian’s mini fan club, right?” Jyn decided to ask, wanting confirmation. Gorgo nodded.

“Captain, intelligence officer, pride of the Rebellion…” he listed them off his fingers, as Jyn observed the stragglers disappear into the woods. He leaned in and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Missy claims she’s going to marry Cassian. Trouble is, she’s fifteen.”

“Fifteen?” Jyn felt bile in her throat. Fifteen year olds were hungering after the Captain. “This Rebellion is a lot more split than it seems,” she told him, and he laughed.

“Since your arrival, things have been shaken up.” Jyn's pulse stuttered. She’d been holding the misconception that only a few select, powerful people were aware of her relatives. But if Gorgo was aware… “Shaken up how?” she asked. Slowly, carefully.

“You arrive here with Cassian in his freighter. He stations guards outside the door. You are held up at gunpoint, rescued by the Senator, and are seen disappearing into the strategy room.” His blue eyes crinkled. “Should I continue?”

She swatted at him, and he dodged her, laughing freely. She felt funny about whatever was forming here; something she wasn’t familiar with. She wasn’t entirely sure she could trust Gorgo – baby faced people could be deceptive – but she was grateful for his information. In ten short minutes, he’d given her the best glimpse of the Rebellion that she’d seen her entire time here. While claiming to be utterly different to the Empire; whole _worlds_ different, she could recognise careful secrecy, and deception, when she saw it. Jingor’s whole operation had been built around secrecy – in her mind, his round, blue face bared his teeth at her, in a terrible smile.

Having been distracted, it was only now that Jyn took notice of the hordes of people appearing, trickling out of the base into what had become a flood. “What are they all doing here?”

Gorgo shook his head, wearing a fond smile at her she hadn’t assessed if she liked, yet, or not. “Oh Jyn. So much to learn.”

“Don’t patronise me – “ she began fiercely, but the words died in her throat when he took her hand, and dragged her towards the woods; where all the noise was coming from, swelling, like it was alive. “If you’re going to kill me – “ she warned, but let herself be dragged away, into the unknown.

   
☽

The woods were nothing like she’d been expecting. Cutting through the thick foliage, she and Gorgo came to another clearing, cut back and manmade: here, people were swarming, and the noise from the crowd was deafening. The trees, spidery and skeletal-like, were decorated with glowing lights that had been strung up – Jyn couldn’t decipher if they were fairy lights, or fireflies – and cast an eerie glow onto the clearing. There was no sign of furniture, but people had made do with seating themselves on stumps, or balancing on branches.

The scene before he was well, and truly, wild. _This_ was her scene: she went to go lose herself in the crowd, but an arm held her back. “Whoah, there. You _don’t_ want to get lost here,” Gorgo advised her, his eyes serious all of a sudden. She made a face, and took another step forward. He signalled towards where a group of youngsters were gathered around, passing bottles between them. Their faces were shadowed, and their grins criminal. “Trust me.”

“You don’t think I can handle myself?” Her tone was accusatory. She was impatient to go out there, wander free. She wanted to explore. Gorgo’s grimace was answer enough. “I can handle myself!”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What _are_ you worried about?” she asked, still impatient; but more gentle. She did like Gorgo, despite his sudden fathering.

“I’m worried about _them_ ,” he said, and grinned. She couldn’t force her mouth into a straight line in time; she grinned back. “I’m just trying to protect the general public,” he added, and his tone wasn’t unkind. She conceded.

“Fine. I’ll stay with you.”

“Let me introduce you to everyone!” Gorgo declared, a little too excited for Jyn's liking; and bounded off while she followed, a careful eye on his back streaking through the crowd. When she caught up with him, he was engaged in conversation with two others. She hovered, unsure of the protocol here. The pressure of social engagement was unknown to a previous scavenger on Vallt, and Jyn was beginning to realise she didn’t enjoy it. Gorgo twisted around and, in a very dramatic fashion, announced: “Jyn, this is everyone. Everyone, Jyn.”

“Informative,” she commented drily; one of his friends snorted. Her shoulders relaxed.

“Whip, short for Whiplash,” one said – she turned her head to observe him: he was tanned, freckled, and had a crop of red hair.

"Your name is Whiplash?”

“Because I’m the fastest pilot,” he boasted, and she raised an eyebrow, her eyes running over his spindly arms and lanky frame, but didn’t say anything. “I am!” he protested, conscious of her eyebrow and speculative looks. “Gor, tell her I am.”

“You’re on your own,” Gorgo responded. He’d been watching the exchange carefully – as if he thought she was going to lash out, all of a sudden. She felt the need to survive stronger than most; but she wasn’t a rabid _dog_.

“If you’re the fastest pilot I’m great at pathfinding,” another cut in: a girl, roughly Gorgo’s height, with glittering eyes and a wry smile. Her dark hair was pulled up in a ponytail, exposing swirling, serpent-like tattoos inked on the left side of her face, close to her ear. Her ear was decorated in silver jewellery, running from her cartilage, down to her lobe. She was so starkly different, that Jyn couldn’t help admiring. There was nothing _soft_ about her.

“That’s different – I actually have potential,” Whip shot back.

“Ouch.”

“Jyn, this is Kyra,” Gorgo introduced with a tentativeness Jyn hadn’t seen in him. Her eyes went back and forth between the two, and gathered there was tension there.

Kyra outstretched her hand and Jyn shook it, recognising the protocol by now. “Good to see someone with _spunk_ , and not actually spineless,” she told Jyn.

“Hey!”

“Shut up, Whip,” Kyra said calmly. Whip’s face crumpled up into a hurt expression, and said something back – but their voices had become white noise. Jyn's attention had broken away from the group, and was drawn to another group huddled by the brink of the clearing, so distracted in discussion that they hadn’t noticed their voices were steadily getting louder. Before anybody could stop her or she could think through what she was doing, Jyn slipped away, edging towards the group with caution.

“… It’s crazy! I’m telling you, there’s no way.” Their faces came into focus, and Jyn recognised the slimy, swaggering boy, who was flanked by Missy, and another blonde – like he’d done this deliberately, a _matching pair_ – and facing the Amaran from earlier. The Amaran’s face was twisted into a nasty snarl, but – Jyn registered with a lurch – he wasn’t being aggressive; he was smiling. He was _coercing_. “These woods are off limits,” and the boy’s voice sounded pathetic to her ears. Jyn would take delight in it, if she wasn’t feeling a little nervous about the Amaran’s expression. She stared at the Amaran, who was dressed in the recognisable colours of the Rebellion: an orange jumpsuit, and clunky boots. His fur was sticking out of it in tufts.

“Scared, Lenor?” the Amaran taunted him. His eyes flickered away from Lenor – just for the briefest of moments – and Jyn whirled around, disguising herself as one of the youngsters chattering away, oblivious. Her ears were trained, listening in all the while. “I would have thought you to be as … esteemed as you claim.”

“I am!” Lenor called loudly, and lowered his voice. “I just … think this isn’t advisable right now.”

“Advisable?” the Amaran let out a bark that Jyn assumed was a laugh. “You really are as spineless as they say.” Out of the corner of her eye, Jyn saw Missy bristle, like she was readying herself to fight the Amaran, a good few inches taller than her. The Amaran couldn’t have been taller than five ten, five eleven; but Missy was _tiny_. Jyn tensed too.

She couldn’t see his expression, but she was sure whatever the Amaran was plotting, he’d drawn Lenor in, far too easily. “Fine. Fine, I’ll do it. You can’t call me spineless after this, though,” he warned, and there was the sounding of leaves being rustled, branches being parted.

“Oh, I _won’t_ ,” the Amaran rumbled, and Jyn suspected she knew where this was going. There was crashing, and a yelp, but the Amaran merely smiled, and disappeared. He’d left the boy to the mercy of the woods, with the nature of a jungle: wild and overgrown and _dangerous_. Jyn hesitated. Was she really about to do this? The boy meant little to her; if his bloodied, mutilated corpse was dragged out from the undergrowth, she could care less.

But.

She gnawed at her lip, indecisive. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to _save_ him, she wanted … she wanted to roam. She made the decision in a split second, and bolted towards the foliage before anyone could restrain her. She heard Missy’s surprised cry, and the Amaran’s snarl – no doubt, at how quickly things had unravelled out of her control. Her heartbeat slowed down when she was in the thick of the woods, calmed by how quiet things were, how untouched. She could barely glimpse the night sky through the overhanging leaves, with how much free rein they’d been given to grow, but she was transfixed by how they gleamed. She span in a slow circle, having forgotten the boy, and felt a laugh bubble up from inside of her. She felt … _free_. And it was wonderful.

Jyn let her hand brush against a flower still unfurling, yet to bloom, and travelled down a track that had been torn through the woods. She could see the imprints of boots, how they had beaten down the soil; and tried to remember every different shade she saw. Even the air smelled fragrant, though it made her feel a little light headed to breathe it in.

Then a scream tore through the silence, and Jyn's peace was torn with it. She turned her head, just in time to see a figure sprinting down the track, his face white-sheeted and mouth open in a silent scream. She froze, and felt the air whip at her as he ran past, not sparing her a glance. His face was a blur, but Jyn didn’t doubt who it was: it was Lenor, though the colour and confidence had been drained from him.

Jyn's survival instincts kicked in. Her feet unrooted themselves from the ground, and she dove towards the nearest tree, scrabbling as she pulled herself up. She reached the canopy just in time: a pack of Anoobas burst through the overgrowth, their red eyes glinting in the moonlight. The largest one, bulking and shadowed, led the pack. Jyn's heart was thudding, her grip becoming slippery as she held onto the branch for dear life. She wished desperately she had something on her she could stave the Anoobas off with; but once again, she was helpless.

And she _loathed_ it.

She watched the Anoobas prowl, their ears cocking for any of sign of Lenor – she assumed that was what they were chasing; though why they’d want his skinny, bony self remained a mystery – growling to one another in a channel of communication that seemed far too advanced for wild animals. The leader tilted its head, sniffing the air as though he’d scented a delicacy; and Jyn leant back, holding her breath. The one thing that was keeping her rooted and calm, was that she had not been brought to Yavin unwillingly, just to be ripped to shreds by dumb pack animals.

Jyn saw it huff to the others, and they retreated. She paused, considering her previous thought. Perhaps not _entirely_ dumb. The leader hovered, standing tense on its haunches, but retreated too. Once she was sure it had disappeared from her sight, she swung down from the tree, more angry than scared. She wanted badly to blame Lenor – _he’d_ led her in here, _he’d_ escaped without a mark, and _she’d_ been the one left at the mercy of the wild animals – but she couldn’t. Rational thought told her she’d gone in here by choice. And for a time, the calm that had washed over her, was worth the risk.

She was distracted. She was stupid. Above all, she was reckless. The only warning she got was a low howl, and then they were advancing.

One was on her in seconds, knocking her to the ground. She gasped, feeling like her ribs had been rattled, her back arching. She had to act _unbelievably_ quickly – her hands seized either side of the Anooba’s face, holding its gnashing teeth back with all the strength she had. She stared at it directly, into its wild eyes. She saw thirst and hunger and a _ferocity_ that extended beyond her understanding. Her arms began to strain. Shake. She held.

All it took was a flash of weakness for the Anooba to strike, and when her arms retracted, for the briefest moment – the teeth had sunk into her, and all she felt was blinding pain, enough to pass out from. She glanced at her arm, at the razors embedded in it and the blood leaking from the wound – feeling woozy, it was like she was looking at an arm that wasn’t hers, was completely detached from her body. The pain reminded it was her arm.

When she didn’t struggle, still groggy from all the blood she was losing, the Anooba gave her arm a few shakes, like her arm was a chew toy; and Jyn was woken up. Her first coherent thought was _Crap, I’m bleeding out. Oh shit._ Desperately, she looked around her, hoping for something, anything. Not here, she thought. _I’m not dying here_.

Miraculously, she spied a rock with a ragged edge – her vision was blurring, her time was running out – and she clumsily grabbed it, after a few tries; loose in her grasp. The Anooba was content with holding onto her arm till she bled out – and so didn’t see the rock coming. Summoning her last bit of strength, Jyn swung the rock into its head, feeling the sharp edge cut into the Anooba’s skin like soft sand; and the Anooba _yowled_. It released her arm instantaneously, which fell to the ground like lead, and Jyn struggled pulling it up, with the rest of her.

She had no choice. She had to survive.

She hadn’t wandered in far, so the path back to the clearing was short, though she staggered there the entire way through. When she stumbled into the clearing, she felt she could cry from relief. She was alive. She was _alive_. She was –

“Oh my God, _Jyn_ ,” a voice said, and arms went to catch her when she fell forward. She peered at the face of Gorgo.

“You’re here a lot, aren’t you?” she asked, still woozy. Her hands touched his face. It was very, very smooth.

He laughed, but it sounded empty. “I thought you were dead.”

She was outraged. The implications. “I’m not going to die, because of a few wolves – “

“Excuse me, I need to take your friend,” a voice cut in, and Jyn wanted to cry. Not Gorgo! She liked Gorgo. Gorgo’s face was soft. She heard Gorgo mutter something urgent, and the voice respond in kind. “Gor, I – “ she gasped, grappling at Gorgo as she felt her balance quaver, and the ground rush up to meet her. Then she blacked out.

☽

The next time her eyes opened, her arm was throbbing, and Cassian was stood over her bed, looking very intimidating, and moody. His face was taking on a pinched, pained expression.

Jyn's hand flew to her arm immediately, and was pleased to note she wasn’t bleeding anymore. Somehow, colours were winking about in her vision, and edges were still blurred, softened. She felt giddy. “What are you doing here?” She managed to get out. Cassian’s brow furrowed, and the worry on his face only _deepened_.

“You were found in a clearing, with a quarter of your blood lost,” he said, with the same tone that implied there shouldn’t have been a question, she should just … know.

“So you’re checking up on me?” Out of her control, her heart soared. She wanted to rein it, but couldn’t, and a smile broke out on her face. “You _are_ checking up on me. Captain, do you like me?” Her tone was very flirtatious. She reached up, and touched her hand to his stubble. It was far rougher, far scratchier than Gorgo’s face. She liked it all the same.

She half-expected him to scowl, or be brusque; but he only looked uncomfortable. “I…”

Jyn tried to sit up, but her balance toppled, and Cassian’s arms grabbed her. It was the third time he’d had her hands on her, and she was convinced that this time, he wouldn’t hurt her. It was pleasant. “The Captain likes me,” she mumbled, feeling her head already ache from the effort, and passed out a second time.

☽

The silhouette behind the door was beginning to irritate Jyn. She’d only had her arm gnawed at and it had been stitched up, so she was fine! And she wasn’t feeling _emotionally_ _fragile_ about it; so she wished people would stop treating her as such. As surprisingly sweet as Gorgo visiting her three times had been – she wasn’t used to such treatment, so the encounters had been a little awkward for her – she was tiring of his presence flitting around her, handling her like she was labelled WARNING: HANDLE WITH CARE. She’d disputed that, of course.

“Gorgo if you’re going to come in, you may as well not hover,” she said loudly, and the silhouette stepped forward.

“I’m afraid I’m not Gorgo, Miss Erso,” the silky voice of the Senator apologised. Jyn was embarrassed; but she composed herself. It was an easy mistake to make – the end of his last visit, Gorgo had promised he’d return “super soon!” Jyn couldn’t decipher if this was her catching a break because it wasn’t Gorgo; or her throwing herself into hot water by mouthing off the Senator. It was the Senator who was giving her refuge on Yavin after all. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Senator,” Jyn greeted her, because she felt she owed Mon Mothma some kind of composure. “What are you ...” She broke off, thinking how to phrase What are you doing here? politely.

“What am I doing here?” Mon Mothma guessed. “I’d like to call it a friendly visit, but my duties require I don’t engage in chit-chat.”

“Is it about the Anoobas?” Her arm, in all its sympathy, experienced a jolt of pain.

Mon Mothma’s face was grave. “No, but I’d like to get to that. At some point. I am here to discuss your role during your stay here.” Stay was an elaborate way of putting it; the truth – Jyn being held captive here so information could be extracted for the sake of the Rebellion – was barely shielded. Mon Mothma barely bothered to conceal it. When it seemed like an age had passed, the Senator added: “I want you working as an intelligence officer. Specifically, partner to Captain Cassian Andor.”

Jyns ears were burning. She distinctly remembered feeling giddy – she’d been drugged, was her best guess – and acting on every private thought she’d had of the Captain. Well, a few. She could hardly convey this to the Senator, so she asked carefully: “What does that entail?”

“It’s one of the most difficult jobs the Rebellion has to offer,” Mon Mothma told her, all the while Jyn's mind was screaming _You touched his face! You touched his face_! You touched. His face. It was pathetic. She was letting her girlish impulses get the better of her; and shook herself out of the stupor. “During most missions – if not all – you’d be risking your life. We expect you to be willing to, for the sake of the Rebellion. For the sake of _all_ of us.” She paused, and Jyn said nothing, her face carefully neutral – she wasn’t about to pretend this was something she’d be waiting for, her _entire life_. She didn’t much care for the Rebellion.

“Undercover spies are few and far in between. A job that requires the utmost loyalty is a gamble, within itself. People change. Defect. Deceive. We’d be placing our trust in you.”

“And if I refuse?”

The Senator’s smile was almost enough to make Jyn shiver; it wasn’t one of her diplomatic smiles. It was grim, hid nothing from her, and wry. “Then I will remind you that you are here under our protection. We can just as easily throw you out, into the wilderness.” There was no mention of the Anoobas – the Senator wasn’t cruel – but the suggestion was there. _The Anoobas will take what is left of you_. “We allow kindness, Miss Erso, but not traitors. Nor cowards.”

The discussion wasn’t fair, as such. It was hardly a discussion. The choice, was simple: work for the Rebellion, or survive on your own. Jyn beamed at her, as sarcastic as it was. “Then welcome me to the Rebellion,” she said with forced cheeriness.

Later, after the Senator had left – _much_ later – Jyn was still in her bed, confined to bed rest by whatever quack on the base called himself a doctor. There’d been footsteps going back and forth outside her door, driving her mad, but she sat up when she heard a distinctive thunk, heavier than the others. She crept out of bed, pressed her ear to the door, and heard a familiar droid inform someone in an apathetic tone:

“You know, the odds of her working well with us are slim to none.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a week of bed rest, and jyn is greeted back... 
> 
> dramatically.

The base was abuzz with excitement the day after the Anooba attack, Jyn was told.

_Told,_ she reflected bitterly. Because she'd been confined to bed rest for a week - which was humiliating, alongside various other things: frustrating,  _mind numbingly_ boring, tedious. If she'd thought her skin itching for her to go outside the night she'd been attacked; a whole  _week_ in bed brought along a much worse itch. She couldn't fault Gorgo's sweetness, though, regularly visiting her once a day - she'd bluntly told him three times was too much, and he accepted it with rare willingness. His visits were cut down to once a day, and it was tolerable. 

" _Everybody's_ talking," he'd informed her in a hush-hush tone that she wasn't sure she liked. It implied gossip, scandal, drama: precisely what Jyn was trying to avoid. Though with K-S20 walking stiffly around and loudly reciting odds in an obnoxious,  _I'm warning you_ tone that made Jyn want to dismantle the damn thing, drama wasn't too far around the corner. To put it short: if she wasn't bedridden, K-S20 would either be malfunctioning, or in constant shut-down mode. That was her being  _kind._

"Missy?" she'd guessed, picturing her small, scowling face passing around hot pockets of information about Jyn. Jyn got the distinct feeling Missy disliked her, probably because Jyn couldn't stand Lenor, the arrogant sod. Gorgo had been carefully avoiding the subject, but when she brought up his name under the illusion she was asking about his wellbeing, his mouth twisted this way and that, and he'd replied tentatively: "He's fine. No marks, so there's no need for him to be confined to the medical bay."

Jyn was tempted to ask him why she wasn't there, but she didn't want to tempt fate. She preferred the solace, where she could seethe and sulk in peace. Around the Senator, she'd felt the pressure to be grateful, accept every act of kindness - if you call Cassian getting a stranger to give her clean clothes  _kind_ \- like she had an unlimited supply of gratitude. Alone, she was able to allow some of the repressed anger leak through. She'd been kidnapped by the Rebellion, kind or grateful didn't come into it.

"Missy," he'd confirmed, and had hesitated. There was more. "And others."

Jyn had repressed a groan, and tried to loosen her ground teeth. Her jaw had begun to ache. "Why they care about someone they barely know, I can't understand it," she'd said truthfully, and didn't enlighten Gorgo that she wanted to split their skulls. "I've only been here three days."

Gorgo had shrugged, and she did itch a bit at that, at his  _casual_ approach to this - 

"They don't have much to do," he'd said with a twinge of sadness, and her fingernails, which had been cutting crescents into her palm, loosened. She'd felt herself go a little weak at the thought that these kids, many no older than her, were being driven out of their minds with boredom because they were stuck.  _Trapped._ If they were to escape the base, Yavin - by some miracle - they'd stumble onto the Empire, by identified as accomplices of the Rebellion at the very least, and ... 

They'd be slaughtered.

Jyn's throat had tightened, and she'd found herself wildly thinking - panicked, she was -  _Why do I care about them? I hardly know them._ "I ... understand," she'd got out, and it was difficult, in between questioning her loyalties and the thickness lodged in her throat. Gorgo had cocked his head at her, inquisitive but not pushy; and she wanted to snap his shoulder back for being the first good, decent person she'd met. "I've been alone a while," was all she'd said after that, and didn't elaborate. He'd got out a sketchbook -  _What, what is that, where did that come from?_ \- and started sketching idly, while she watched him and wondered when his baby face had hardened, and he'd aged five years.

Of course, a day of comfortable silence was all she deserved, it seemed. Since then, Gorgo had been  _vibrating_ with energy. He was rolling off radical stories of Whip and Kyra who, despite all their differences, appeared united in their cause to wreak havoc on base. Much to the Senator's exasperation, naturally.

" - and Kyra was stood there,  _soaked_ head to toe in engine oil and Whip's too shell shocked to apologise!" He'd finally burst out with, and Jyn hadn't been able to force the enraptured expression off of her face in time - which had been dissolving into amusement - and Gorgo had caught it. He hadn't commented on it, which she was thankful for; but his answering grin blinded her. The memory of it now brought her immense comfort, more than she cared to mention.

She was thinking of the memory now, cradling it in his hands like it was something precious, to be protected; it was the only way she could stop herself from clawing off her skin with her own hands. She was  _itching_ so badly it was unbearable. Her door opened, and Jyn sat up a little straighter. When she saw it was that Twi'lek girl, Aeona? Aeyoka? she slumped down in her bed.

"If you're here to give me painkillers, I don't want them," she said flatly - but with good reason. Throughout her bed rest, people had been flitting in and out, each one the more determined than the last to get her to take her medication, Jyn had tired of doctors. Nurses. _Anyone_ who went into her room possessing the illusion they'd be successful in getting Jyn to pop pills like tic tacs.

A little mangled arm was nothing. Once, all muscles in her back tore from how violently Jingor had ... disciplined her, and she'd dealt with crippling back pain for a month. She hadn't had painkillers then. She point blank refused to allow herself luxuries simply because she was under the steely gaze of the Senator. Who, it seemed, was much hardier than she gave herself credit for. The order for her to work as Cassian as his ... partner, she supposed was the right word - though she was sure he wouldn't see it that way - made her want to cry; but she couldn't fault how no-nonsense Mon Mothma had been when she had given the order. Jyn felt compelled to follow it.

If Jyn wasn't here against her own will; she suspected she would grow to admire the Senator. She was easily admirable.

The Twi'lek girl shaking in front of Jyn was nothing like Mon Mothma. Her face was arranged in such a way, that Jyn couldn't decipher whether she was terrified, or carefully cautious. From how she'd responded to Jyn's unexpected display of brute force, Jyn guessed it was terror.

The girl approached, her fingers laced together in what could have been perceived as thoughtful, but looked more like she was trying to hold herself together. "I'm here to inform you that you've been relieved of bed rest." Her upper lip was trembling. "Captain Andor wishes to see you."  _Aeola,_ went her mind -  _Cassian's secretary,_ went another helpful thought, but Jyn didn't voice it. She looked scared out of her wits, and Jyn wasn't particularly keen on frightening her more when Aeola was so weak. It just didn't sit right with her. 

"What for?" she asked, and it must have come out a little too rough; Aeola flinched.

"To discuss your first assignment." Jyn examined her face, searching for anything that might betray the task she was about to undertake. Behind a barely-kept mask of neutrality that was about to crumple should Jyn make a move on her, there was nothing. She got the sense Aeola didn't know what Jyn was going to do either, and that unsettled her. Cassian was about to have complete control of her, and if he used force, his position in the Rebellion would say more than any claims she'd make. She needed to prepare herself.

She straightened her shoulders and, habitually, wound her hand around her bandaged arm. Aeola's throat bobbed, eyeing her injured arm. She could envision what kind of thoughts were going through Aeola's head. _Not fit to be on the field_ was probably one of them. "Lead the way," Jyn instructed.

What did one Twi'lek know, anyway?

☽

Cassian was being crowded. No, not by people - though Jyn would have  _loved_ to be given a reason to knock his ass to the floor, she could say the mere sight of people crooning over him aggravated her - but by parts. Ship parts. He was being dwarfed by the star cruiser he was working on, decorated with oil, and grease, much like the first time she'd seen him, on Vallt. The smudges on his face looked endearing, but she shook herself. She'd been victim to underestimating him purely on appearance, and now she was here. Cassian wasn't a person to be  _crooned_ over. He was a person to be avoided, at all costs. And at the Senator's orders, she was now in direct contact with him. 

He had his back to her: she was safe to approach. But she hovered. She'd never been in partnerships, or businesses. Her way of surviving had been simple: to scavenge, and to watch her own back. Somehow, she'd wound up being roped into working with a Captain. It massively over complicated things. And Jyn didn't  _do_ complicated.

"I don't know what you're planning to do," came the voice of Cassian over his shoulder, "but don't."

"I wasn't doing anything!" she protested, dread already curling itself around and settling in the pit of her stomach. They'd already begun badly. How was a  _mission_ supposed to go?

"You're lurking," he pointed out, and turned to face her. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She couldn't argue with that. "Make yourself useful." She was handed a roll of silvery tape, heavy and solid in her hands, which she turned this way and that in the light, intrigued. "It's not a toy," he said in a tired voice, and turned back to resume his work. 

"How am I" - she tried to keep the fury in her voice to a minimum, he was her superior now - "supposed to know what to do with  _thi_ _s_?" She shook the tape, and it rattled.

"Work it out," was his utterly unhelpful response, lost in a tangle of wires, which his fingers were deftly sorting through. "Problem's up there." He jerked his head to a section of the cruiser, opened to reveal another mass of tangles sticking out. She eyed it warily. There was no clear path to the section, it was at an awkward angle of the cruiser, and the cruiser was  _huge,_ a thousand metres at the very least. It looked as though it had been dropped in the hanger bay, a low-roofed building hunched to the right side of the temple. Jyn had been puzzled when she found it. Surely the Rebels hadn't built next to Yavin's sacred temple? The short answer was they had. Whatever they could get their grubby little hands on, they'd utilized. In the long run, it would benefit the Rebellion. That was how they must have justified this, firmly planted themselves next to a sacred temple and chocked it full of space ships. 

There were a few other freighters in the hanger, halfheartedly spotted here and there; but the main attraction was the star cruiser.  _LIBERTY,_ declared the side of the cruiser, the side Jyn was facing. She could already see people humming around it like flies, murmuring to one another with a note of peaking interest. Pointing at the painted words like they were a work of art.

Cassian inclined his head towards them, too breezy for her taste, and called, "Hey, kids. Scram." She watched, holding her mouth shut. She didn't want to  _gawp,_ but ...

She didn't get Cassian. She'd seen angry - hot-red anger - frustrated, _spiked_ with sexual tension; and now she'd seen breezy, all in her presence. He was full of contradictions. At least her dislike of him was constant. He seemed to change like the tides. Truthfully, she wished he'd had one default setting, K-S20. He was blunt, but consistently blunt. Cassian couldn't make his mind up.

She drew her eyes back to the problem at hand once the others had dispersed, and her mouth thinned. "How am I meant to get up there?" Cassian was looking for independent, and innovative; but Jyn didn't intend to give him either. Did she have to remind him that neither of them wanted this match? She felt a hand encircle her wrist, attached to the arm that wasn't shredded, and gave her a sharp, quick yank. Without any explanation, Cassian was pulling her towards him, so close she could feel his body heat, and - Why was she blushing? She couldn't be  _blushing,_  she wasn't some girlish heroine who swooned- and in a flurry, lifted her up from her waist onto a narrow shelf along the ridges of the ship. She stumbled, which was dangerous ten metres off the ground, and Cassian's hands found her easily, moulding to her hips.

When she regained her balance, angling her clumpy boots awkwardly so she could stand - sort of - Cassian didn't say a word, but his hands slipped away. She dared to look behind her, and he'd returned to his work, an instrument caught between his teeth like nothing had happened. She wanted to stare. She wanted to ask, Do moments like that happen to you all the time,  _or_? She didn't. To ask would to acknowledge a heated moment had happened between them, and Jyn hadn't forgot his rough treatment of her. One quick brush couldn't change that.

She turned her attention to the job. Which, forewarning: she had no idea how to tackle. She was gazing at a mesh of wires, lit up and warm to the touch. She touched them tentatively, fearing she'd accidentally break a wire, and the whole ship would malfunction. Had her father been here, he'd have guided her through, not handed her a heavy roll of tape and demanded she figure it out. All of a sudden, her throat felt tight, and she didn't realise she'd been staring at the tape until the feeling passed, and the lump in her throat had dissipated. Her fingers slipped under the wires, a little transfixed by them. They'd been rooted into a wall, a kind reminder that if she fucked up, the ship would suffer. Her focus intensified, and she could see one of the wires were fraying, and hotter to the touch.

"You want me to fix a broken wire with tape," she said flatly, to herself, and raised her voice: "You want me to fix a broken wire ...  _with_ _tape_!"

"It's good practice!" 

She twisted around, to give him her best look of disbelief. "It's  _demeaning_."

He levelled her stare. "It's all someone with your skill set can do," he told her, in a quiet voice that was deadly. She flinched, and broke eye contact. Her job was clumsy, patched-up at best; but she wasn't eager to fix a ship for a man who'd cut into her. She threw the tape down.

"I'm done," she announced. She went to climb down, but Cassian had other ideas. He hoisted himself up, much resembling a rat monkey clawing itself up a tree. He reached her with ease, which shouldn't have bothered her, but did. On the shelf of the ship, it was crowded. Jyn's grip on the ship tightened, and she tried to ignore how he was pressed up against her. He smelled like wood smoke. He didn't look at her while he examined her work, which shouldn't have bothered her ... but did. 

"It's alright. The Turbolasers should be working now." And that was it. He was quick, concise, and kept his face neutral. She hadn't exactly  _bled_ for her work, but ... Was it possible she wanted something more from him? That she  _preferred_ the anger, because it meant at least he wasn't brushing her aside. Jyn acted on impulse.

She shoved him. It was  _dangerous_ and  _stupid_ and Cassian's hands were flying up to grab onto her shoulders because if he hadn't he  _definitely_ would have fallen and broken a major bone in his body and he'd be confined to bed a lot longer than a week. "What," he hissed, and his eyes were darker - which shouldn't have sent a thrill through her - "Are you  _doing_?" She couldn't help herself; she shrugged. "You..." His jaw muscle jumped, and she savoured the moment. She didn't know herself. "I can't believe I have to work with  _you_ ," he said, in the tone of a petulant child, she wanted to laugh. Sulky didn't suit Cassian.

"It wasn't my first choice, either," she shot back.

"You always have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"What can I say, I've got a big mouth." The response was out of her mouth before she could stop herself, and the air became thick with sexual tension. Jyn froze. Cassian stiffened next to her. 

Whatever Jyn had to say about Gorgo Anders, she couldn't fault his timing. "Jyn  _Erso,_ is  _that_ you?" He gasped out, stalking towards the star cruiser, his face perfectly depicting _scandalised_. It did the trick; Cassian scarpered. It wasn't graceful, nor was it quick, but he was climbing down, and Jyn was left stranded on the shelf. This time, Cassian didn't help her down, which was a stab to her gut; but she should have expected it. Moments ago, she'd endangered his life, just for his attention. Was she being driven crazy?

The sight of Gorgo, vibrant and radiating with energy was a complete contrast to how Jyn felt: hollowed out, scratched, carrying every sort of mark imaginable. She felt used. But she didn't want to bring Gorgo's mood down - she made the effort of smiling at him, and called back, "I'm free Gor!"

"And may we bless the gods for it," he grinned, about to swing himself up - Jyn acted quickly, clambering down before she was caught, cornered on the shelf again. It was not an experience she wanted to relive. He didn't hug her as way of greeting - she was grateful, they'd grown closer but Jyn still struggled with physical contact, with the bad memories that were brought along with it - but his side bumped against hers, comfortably. "How do you feel?"

She gave him a pointed look. "You should know better," she reprimanded. "Everybody's been asking how I feel. I feel  _fine._ I'm just bored. I want to do something."

"He hasn't asked you," Gorgo said out of the corner of his mouth, nodding to Cassian; perceptive as always. Whether Cassian had heard him wasn't clear, but his sudden intent, unbreakable focus in his work was suspicious. 

"I don't care that he hasn't asked me," she grumbled, which was strictly true - if there was anyone whose sympathy she wanted least, it was Cassian's. She was sure he viewed her as a filthy, morally-questionable scavenger. She could deal with his seething. But to have his pity ... It'd suggest he cared. 

Gorgo have her an appraising look. "Look at you, up and at them. People can say what they will, but those betting you'd stay in your bunker for another week were completely wrong."

Jyn wasn't sure she'd heard right. " _Betting_? Who -"

"No gossiping while you're at work," Cassian called over to them, infuriatingly calm. "Gorgo, she needs to work. You'll have to talk to her at lunch." He hadn't even turned around to tell them this, entangled in wires still. He hadn't had the courtesy.

Jyn's blood simmered. He'd handed her a roll of tape, and asked her to patch up a fraying wire. Where was the work in that? " _Working_? I'm not working, you piece of -" 

" _Apologies_ , Cass - Captain," Gorgo smoothly cut her off, blocking her path from Cassian with an arm. It was probably best in the long term, as Jyn had been prepared to kick in his shins. She thanked that Gorgo was much quicker, and smarter and definitely more democratic. "I merely think that, while bed rest was necessary for Jyn to heal, it wasn't fitting with someone of her character. I believe a few hours of freedom would greatly benefit her." Gorgo's game was clear, but ... 'character'? She side-eyed him. If Cassian took the stick out of his ass long enough to allow her to go, she'd have questions for Gor.

"She's not going anywhere without my orders," was Cassian's unfeeling response. "She's under my care now."

Jyn scoffed, crossing her arms and pressing the tip of her tongue against her cheek. Gorgo was glancing at her nervously, but she didn't say anything. To _think_ she'd thought she'd felt something when his hands touched her. She supposed she'd just been deprived of contact. "I understand, Captain." He didn't bow, but his straightened posture and carefully schooled features suggested he might as well. "Try not to kill him," he murmured just to her, and left. Jyn watched him go with a sinking feeling. She'd known Cassian had control over her, but - 

Well, to be witness to it on the first day of their partnership wasn't reassuring. Maybe K-S20 as a partner would have been a better choice.

☽

Jyn was watching the red blot in the sky climb higher, swinging her legs around in impatience. She'd hoisted herself up on the crate since Gorgo had left, and Cassian - mercifully - hadn't said anything about it. She'd been afforded a quick glance, before he buried himself in his work. The promise of lunch was the only thing fuelling Jyn; she could sense it was nearing. To have Cassian ignore her was more boring than she cared to acknowledge. 

The third group of giggling boys and girls that day drifted past, and Jyn snapped. "Doesn't it bother you?"

Cassian, sitting astride the cruiser with his jacket peeled off and wearing only a white vest that was indecent, took a few beats to reply. He was utterly absorbed in what he was doing. "Does what bother me?" he said, in more of a murmur, sounding distant.

Jyn's leg connected with the crate in a satisfying crunch. "The attention." Her eyes were drawn to the muscles in his arms, flexing while he worked. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked away. She refused, on principal, to become one of ... them. A second Missy. 

"They're not here for me, they're here for the ships."

His ignorance sounded worse aloud. "Of course they're here for you!" she snapped, and calmed herself. She was sounding too frantic. "They're all ogling." She said this while sneering at the third group, who were talking excitedly amongst themselves, making obscene hand gestures towards Cassian. She thought she caught,  _Oh my_ God,  _look at his thighs! Look. At his thighs._

"I'm not really interested in them," he replied, his face taut with concentration. A light of some kind flickered on inside the cruiser, then quickly died. Cassian's face, briefly triumphant, now hardened. How a man could have a million facial expressions, Jyn wouldn't understand. She was a lot less complex than the Captain. 

"Doesn't matter if you're not interested. They're being disruptive," she pointed out, and delighted in how one of the boys squealed when she glowered at him. "I thought we were supposed to be working," she added, her tone ostentatious.

She expected Cassian to scowl, or snap - some sign she'd got under his skin - but his work appeared to be a priority over Jyn's taunting. He was rapt, and took a little while longer to answer her, more absentminded than she liked. "I'm working. You're not."

"Because you gave me  _tape_!" She burst out with. She caught his gaze, and he looked weary. "Show me what I'm supposed to be doing, and I'll do it. But at least give me a challenge." 

He studied her, long enough to cause a hot flush creeping up her neck. "Alright," he finally decided. "Come here."

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to decipher if he was being sincere or not. Confident he was, she swung off the crate, and padded towards the cruiser; her eyes mapping the safest manageable path to Cassian. Once she'd chosen, she seized a hold onto one of the shelves, and began to climb. Her palms were slick with sweat - from the heat or from the tension, she couldn't work it out - and her boots were rubbery, with no grip; her climb was stalled, and she was aware that all the while, Cassian was watching her. When her hand fell onto the ridge just below Cassian and her right foot found another, she heaved herself up and sat alongside him, struggling to keep her expression cool.  _She'd done it!_ "What are we doing?"

One of the large, swelling bumps that were dotted all over Liberty, had been opened, and a cannon was sitting snugly inside. "This Ion Cannon's faulty," Cassian explained, and her eyes were on his hands, practically black from all the oil and grease he'd been dealing with. He began to explain, but his voice faded to a dim murmur. Jyn was distracted, her eyes on his hands, or his mouth, or his bare shoulders, which were tanned from all the sun he'd been exposed to, but freckled with moles, too. "... We have to reboot it." He must have noticed how distracted she was, as he prompted her: "Jyn?" Had that been the first time he'd said her name? " _Jyn._ " He shook her, insistent, and she snapped out of the self-induced trance.

"I'm with you," she said, but hesitated. She didn't want to admit she hadn't been listening - it would have been horrifically embarrassing - but she wasn't prepared to get her hands on a faulty Ion Cannon, lest she lose her hand to searing hot ions. "I'm not," she admitted.

His jaw tightened, but he didn't comment. "Our first mission is in two days," he finally said, startling her, but not looking up. "If you get distracted then, I may not be able to help you. You - "

" - could die," she cut in. "Yes, I'm aware. The Senator said."

When he finally looked up, she couldn't look away. His dark eyes were very commanding. "I don't think you are."

"I've survived on my own for years!"

"It's not quite the same."

"How?"

He paused. "The Empire are ruthless. They will not take pity on you because you've had a hard life."

Jyn's eyes stung. "I've never wanted pity." It wasn't the appropriate time to show him the scars on her spine - though they'd most definitely make an appearance later on - but she wanted to. It was compelling proof that she'd endured, and she'd survived. Sometimes she'd had nightmares and she'd been alone and contemplated how easy it would be, to not to be herself; but she'd survived all the same. Her mouth glued shut, obstinate to not tell Cassian all of this. It wasn't any of his business.

"I don't think you want pity either." Cassian's voice had grown soft, and it made her want to shout back at him. It resembled pity all too well. "I just think you don't want to be alone." 

He leaned in, far too close - practically a hair's breadth away from her - and she let herself get carried away, too, not stopping him. When he was so close her heart was banging against her rib cage, she jerked back. This didn't make sense. This  _wasn't_ right. Where was the Cassian who'd so violently - and publicly - hurt her? Treated her no better than Jingor, or Balki, or any of the scum on Vallt? She couldn't let herself lose sight of that simply because he was offering her what she'd been so deprived of. Comfort, and company. 

She'd been here over a week, and already she was falling apart. She couldn't bear the thought.

Jyn fled.

☽

Outside of the hangar bay, she collided with the very person she hadn't expected to encounter: the Senator.

Her face was hard, and grim, and her stance like a soldier's. It should have all been ringing alarm bells in Jyn's head, but she'd been too caught up with the business from earlier to recognise it. "Senator?"

"Where is Captain Andor?" Mon Mothma asked her, and there was no trace of welcoming, or kindness on her face. She spoke quickly, not urgently; but Jyn should have known that the two were very alike.

She was bewildered instead. "Inside the hangar bay. Why - ?" She trailed off. She heard the shouts, the flurry of people behind the Senator, and panic welled up inside her; she fought to keep it down. Her body locked, in determination. She couldn't be so impossibly weak. "What's happened?"

When the Senator spoke, it was as though her mouth wasn't moving; but the words that came out rang in Jyn's head. "Weaponry, Miss Erso. Someone's stolen all of the Rebellion's weaponry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you'll have to excuse how long this took me to get out, christmas holidays are over and i'm back at college.
> 
> you'll have to take my word for it when i say it takes FOREVER to write just one chapter.
> 
> regardless, i hope you enjoyed this clumsily put-together barely-a-chapter, chapter! i made sure to have a lot more jyn/cassian in it for all you junkies (including myself).


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